


Sweet Days (series #3) - Collection #2

by sweepeaspatch



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-04-25 11:24:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14377635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweepeaspatch/pseuds/sweepeaspatch
Summary: More short stories on the subject of free fall...





	1. Caught in a Loop

**Author's Note:**

> Story List:  
> 1\. Caught in a Loop  
> 2\. Do Not Got To Bed Mad  
> 3\. Three Impossible Things Before Breakfast  
> 4\. You Light the Fire...  
> 5\. Dancing of One Form or Another  
> 6\. Pillow Talk  
> 7\. And What Does This Mean?  
> 8\. Orders  
> 9\. Afternoon Poetry  
> 10\. Another Glorious Morning

**Caught in a Loop**

He lurches up in bed, gasping, covered in sweat. Not again! How many times can a nightmare creep into his sleeping mind before it dims and stops being so awful?

He dreams he married Megan Talbot. He is back in England, trapped in a grey marriage in a grey house in a grey city in a grey country. Every day he stands in the drizzle, tears washing down his face as he sees golden sunrises, white beaches, impossibly blue skies… and sad sad brown eyes.

Megan doesn’t like the heat. She doesn’t like his friends. She certainly does not like Camille. She has severed all ties with Saint-Marie. He is her prisoner… sad, desperate, lonely… tied by vows he must honour no matter what.

His breath is slowing, his body cooling… he turns to Camille, surprised she isn’t awake already… soothing him… loving him. His salvation.

The bump under the bedding stirs, rolls over, and aggrieved blue eyes glare at him, “Honestly! Why do you have to wake me up every night? You are so selfish!”

He lurches up in bed, gasping, covered in sweat. Not again! How many times can a nightmare …?

He lurches up in bed, gasping, covered in sweat…

He lurches up in bed, gasping …

“Camille!” he roars… and she is there… holding him… calming him. He shudders into her shoulder, “Are you real? Am I awake?”

“Yes, I’m real. You’re home. You’re safe. She never got you… I did. What do you need? How can I help?”

He lies back, pulling her down, “Just love me. Love me like my life depends on it.”

She covers him with her body. It is all she can do. The rest is up to him.

END - Caught in a Loop


	2. Do Not Go To Bed Mad

**Do Not Go To Bed Mad**

They lay side by side, staring up at the dark ceiling. Still and silent. Not touching.

They’ve had an argument. Their first serious argument. Now it is the silent treatment. Neither can find the nerve to speak in case the argument flares up again. They both fret. They both worry.

As the minutes tick by, they both feel the first flutter of fear. Can they make this relationship work? Can they balance their professional and personal lives? It’s like oil and water. Is there a way?

The same thought is in both their minds. Is their love affair doomed?

After several minutes, there is a faint rasp as she slides a hand to the vast empty space between them.

Almost immediately, his hand slips over to lay by hers, barely touching. Reconciliation is desired.

Slowly, a gentle dance of touch begins. Apologies offered. Apologies accepted. Contrition. Sorrow. Fear. Longing. Don’t leave. Stay. Love.

When he pulls her to him, her face is wet with silent tears. He tries to kiss them away but there are just so many of them. He lets them wet his chest. It is cleansing for both of them.

“Don’t greet so, love. We know what we want. We’ll find a way. I know we will.”

They talk late into the night, making plans, rejecting anything that will separate them but finally having to reconsider that option if they can’t find a way to work together.

“Maybe I can get a partial lobotomy to forget you’re my ONE during office hours?” she murmurs.

“How about hypnotism? I can go back to being my former self. Clueless. Hopeless with women.”

She smiles, “ANY thing but that! I wanted to strangle you!”

He chuckles, “Are you sure ‘strangle’ is the verb you’re thinking of?”

She slides onto him, “No, it’s not.”

Later, drowsing in each other’s arms, he murmurs, “Let’s go see the Commissioner in the morning. He’s a crafty devil. He might have a suggestion.”

Next morning, as they are ushered into the great man’s presence, he folds his hands atop his desk and booms out, “Finally! Now, here’s what we’ll do!” And that was that.

He has great plans for these two.

END – Do Not Go To Bed Mad


	3. Three Impossible Things Before Breakfast

**Three Impossible Things Before Breakfast**

She watches him over the rim of her coffee mug, delighting as always in his visage, his physical presence, and the possibilities. Life WITH Richard is so much more satisfying! Why, just last night he had… she shivers with body memory and returns to studying him.

He turns a page of his paper and says without looking up, “You know, I’ve heard that French women have only one thing on their mind but I never gave it much credence…” a quick flick of his eyes to hers then back down to the paper “… until recently.”

 _Oh ho! Games, is it?_ The mental maneuvering can be most stimulating, especially if combined with the physical. _Let’s see where this takes us, shall we?_ She clicks down her mug and leans a nonchalant chin-in-hand on the table, “Oh, really? And what is that ‘one thing’, may I ask?”

He turns another page, “World domination.”

“I see. And we will accomplish this by…?”

“It’s obvious, distract all the men and keep us in a state of mental and physical strife while you take over the world.”

She laughs, “How do you know we aren’t already doing that?”

“I am certain that you are… poor pawn in your nefarious plans that I am.”

She reaches out and strokes the back of his hand, making the paper shiver slightly, “Oh, poor little pawn. I feel so sorry for you.”

“You will protect me from all the other Queens, won’t you?”

Her eyes narrow, _Hmm, what’s he up to?_ Out loud she says, “Of course. Which Queens?”

He shrugs, “Oh, just Queens, here and there, the odd one… you know.”

She slowly forces the paper down onto the table. He gives her the blandest of looks, “Something?”

”Yes! Something! Has someone, or someones, been bothering you? Tell me now before I find them on my own and do something I will later regret!”

“Honestly, Camille, how would I know? I’m just a little pawn. I didn’t even know about YOU until you sat me down and told me the facts of Life. Tsk.”

Those little ‘tsks’ always did her in. The nerve of the man! She feels her blood pressure building like in the bad old days when they seemed to fight every day about nothing at all… and about the only thing that mattered. She welcomes the familiar rush of angry delight and braces for battle.

“How would YOU know? How COULDN’T you know? You seduced me in the most scandalous way!”

She has his complete attention now. His eyes widen in surprise, the green flashed, “Me? Seduce YOU? Are you mad? How? With what?” He sits back now, crosses his arms, and readies for battle.

She scoffs, “With what! Just look at you!” She indicates his whole self with a stiff hand.

He looks down, ponders, looks back up, frowns, and shrugs, “I don’t get the point.”

“No, you don’t! And that was your whole plan of attack, wasn’t it?” He still looks blank. Now both her hands are gesturing, “You! The suit! The ties! The whole ‘I’m just a buttoned-up virgin trying to get through life without any bother, don’t pay me any mind’ routine.”

He puffs up with indignation, “I NEVER…”

She snaps her fingers, “Oh! And don’t get me started with the whole ‘I don’t understand women so please don’t try any of your feminine wiles on me because I am totally defenseless’.” She sits back, sure she has scored a direct hit.

“But I didn’t…”

“Oh, yes you did! And THEN… being so brilliant all the time… showing off that big brain… making me want to understand it… and you. Oh, you were very crafty. I didn’t stand a chance.”

He smooths down his tie, “And my polite demeanor? I suppose that was part of my act too?”

“Yes! Yes, it was! Being so stand-offish, not a hug or peck on the cheek or anything! Oh, it was torture.”

He shoots his cuffs, clasps his hands and puts them into his lap, and raises knowing eyes, “Well, in that case, I’m doing it right now, aren’t I?”

There is a moment of surprised silence. She swallows and says very quietly, “Yes, you are. Stop it.”

He gives a tiny smile, just a curl at the corner of his mouth, “And how do I do that?”

“Stop thinking, stop with the dry wit, the moral fibre, the being male, the…”

He leans forward minutely, “But, dearest, if I stop all that, I’d either be non-existent or someone else. Do you truly want that?”

Taking a deep breath and giving him her best death-stare, she has to admit, “No. I don’t.”

He nods and picks up his paper again, rattles it a bit to make his point, “I thought not.”

She slams the paper out of his hands and back onto the table, “You’re impossible!!”

Now he looks put-upon, “Me? I’M impossible??”

She rises and comes around the table at him. He shoves himself back into his seat, watching her very carefully. “Yes, you!  Impossibly sexy, impossibly irresistible, impossibly…”

As she settles onto his lap and takes the argument to the next level, he is laughing, “Oh, I like being impossible! Tell me more.”

The rest is on a non-verbal level of communication.

END – Three Impossible Things Before Breakfast


	4. You Light the Fire

**You Light the Fire…**

He is brought out of his book by surreptitious sounds from the beach. Looking out, he sees a small fire with a very well-known silhouette standing before it. Carefully marking his place, he lays the book down and goes out to her. He stands beside her as she gazes into the fire.

Without looking at him, she asks, “What if I had taken you at your word?”

Watching the flames dance and undulate, he is pleasantly at peace, “Mmm? My word?”

“What if I’d actually done it? Would you have accepted me so early in our acquaintance?”

“Camille, what are you alluding to?”

“I know you remember... ‘You make the fire. I’ll take off my clothes.’ I’ll never forget it. It was my first realization that this wasn’t just a working relationship. I had such dreams!!!”

“Oh. Well. Thinking back, it was too soon. I was still smarting from being ejected from London and almost hallucinating from jet lag and the heat.”

“Were you very lonely?”

“Desperately so. I was so hopeful I could start fresh here.”

She links her arm with his. They watch the fire, “And you did didn’t you?”

“Well, it seems I did. How did THAT happen?”

“It started with the station. Dwayne and Fidel were your loyal guard dogs as soon as they saw you in action. The Commissioner moved heaven and earth to keep you. And I…” She sighs.

His head turns ever so slightly towards her, “Yes?”

“I was in over my head before I even knew I was in danger.” She sounds wistful.

He slips a hand around her waist, drawing her to his side, “Never fear. Your hero is here.”

She slips a hand around him, resting her cheek against his chest, “Yes. My hero. Finally.”

He chuckles, “Well, give me some credit. I held out as long as I could.”

“Which was pretty damn long! Oh, I regret every lost opportunity. Every missed kiss.”

“That man is gone. I’m here now… and I never miss an opportunity for kisses.” He ducks his head to meet her lips as they rise to meet his. He sighs when the kiss ends and they look back to the fire, “Sorry, love. I’m knackered. This last case was harrowing. I don’t think I’m up for anything tonight.”

She hugs him, “Not to worry. You’re doing exactly what I need tonight. Let’s just watch the fire and remember those two fools in love. What she should have done… and what he might have done.”

They sit down. A thick blanket waits for them. She’s learned a few things along the way. He makes allowances now that would have been uniformly rejected in the past.

The fire is quieting down, colours fluxing through all the colours. It is mesmerizing.

“You know… you were a bit like that fire,” she tells him.

“I was?”

“Yes. Easily overlooked. Banked and waiting to burst into life.”

“Hmm. All I needed was a spark, fuel, and oxygen.” He kisses her cheek, “That was you, you know.”

“Mmmm. All I needed was focus. I had to find my fire.”

“Well, I’m glad you did. Such determination deserved reward.”

“You were worth it.”

Drowsing, he manages, “And I had to find my hearth...”

He slips into sleep with his head on her shoulder.

She holds him and watches the fire… sees familiar shadows dancing… and smiles.

END – You Light the Fire…


	5. Dancing of One Form or Another

**Dancing of One Form or Another**

They kiss their way in through the back door. It is dark. They have been dancing. Out. In public.

She is slightly tipsy but still fresh as a daisy. Her eyes have a slow hunger in them that he’s come to accept as his lot in life… little man with big job to do.

He is a bit more disheveled. His shirt is open where her hands have tried to intrude all evening. He’d defended his home ground vigorously, much to her delight and renewed attempts. His hair is spliffed up a bit as if fingers have been running through. His colour is high and he is laughing.

She pushes him back against the door as soon as it closes behind him. She slips one leg up to hook over his hip, her hands dropping to his belt. They grapple briefly but he manages to capture her hands and puts them behind her back.

Mock stern, he manages, “Do you mean to tell me that after hours of public, fully-clothed copulation to music, you wish to REPEAT the entire endeavour? Why bother going dancing at all? We could have just stayed home!” She is kissing his throat. In French. _Damn the woman. Can’t she converse like a normal person?_

“I take you out so I can parade you in front of all those LOSERS! Hah hah! He’s MINE. Hands OFF!” She bites his trapezius. If he doesn’t get her under control she will begin biting off his shirt buttons… like last time.

“I am NOT a trophy!” Her hands are escaping.

“Says you!” Her hands are inside his shirt. Amazing reflexes.

“Well, I’m NOT!” His hands are in her hair, holding her for a kiss.

“Tell that to all the sad, mad, bad women eyeing you all night! Where did you learn to dance like that?”

“I got drunk one night and dragged to a night club by a much younger woman and she taught me.”

“Grrr! Anything else happen?”

“I don’t remember. Truly. Knowing me, probably not... but that’s all in the past... let it rest, I say.”

“Well, buster, no rest for YOU! And YES! I want a repeat performance! Right now!”

He catches her as she leaps into his arms, “Oh, all right then. Just checking.”

END


	6. Pillow Talk

** Pillow Talk **

Post-coital exhaustion leads to some interesting conversations…

“What are you thinking?”

“About all the missed opportunities we had... ‘You light the fire… I’ll take off my clothes.’ That would have been SOME bonfire!”

“Good God, woman! Isn’t it bad enough you’re trying to shag me to death? Now you want to reminisce about all the time we COULD have shagged?!”

“Mmm-hmm. I have such pleasant thoughts about what I could have done instead of waiting for you to make the first move.”

“Well, call me Roger.”

“Roger? Why Roger?”

“Because, obviously, my welfare matters not a whit so long as I roger at a moment’s notice!”

“Oh, poor overworked baby! How much notice do you need?”

“About as long as this conversation. Come here… Roger wants a word.”

END


	7. And What Does This Mean?

**And What Does This Mean?**

Sitting at the breakfast table, she calls his attention to an article she is reading. He rustles his newspaper as he leans over the tea cups to attend.

“It says here that body language alone can be used to get through most of a regular day. No words needed at all. Do you think that’s possible?”

Sitting back up, he calmly states, “Absolutely. A trained professional can read the signs perfectly.”

Nodding, she studies him. He hears the silence and looks up, lays down the paper, “Something?”

Laying down her magazine, she smiles seductively.

He leans back just a tad, wary. She is unpredictable at the best of times. She no longer makes him nervous (exactly) but it never pays to underestimate a determined French woman. It isn’t just the Mounties who always get their man.

“What does this mean?” She taps his hand where it lay beside hers.

“You want my attention. You trust me to a certain extent. You are comfortable in my presence.”

“And this?” She lays her hand over his.

“You have my attention and wish to hold it. You trust me. You want something.”

“And this?” Her fingers trace slow circles on the back of his hand.

He swallows, “You want more than my attention. You wish to comfort me. You…”

She squeezes his bicep gently.

“Um, getting a bit tricky here. I need further clues as to the true meaning…”

She slides her hand across his chest to undo his top button.

“Ah, that’s clear as a bell. My shirt needs ironing and I must take it off.”

Shaking her head as he stands to unbutton his shirt, his grin matching hers, she laughs, “And you call yourself an expert?”

He takes her hand and leads her back to bed, “Oh, I’m good all right. In fact, I’m now bilingual.”

END


	8. Orders

**Orders**

Richard and Camille stare down at his bed, having just come in from a long walk on the beach in order to prolong the inevitable.

Harry is right in the middle of the white expanse, bobbing and displaying.

Richard puts his hands on his hips and exclaims, “I don’t take orders from YOU!”

Behind him, he hears a very familiar snap-click and he vaults over Harry… who leaps for the headboard. Landing on his knees and whirling around, Richard gulps, “You, on the other hand, are a force of nature and must be obeyed at all costs!”

He is grinning as he faces his oncoming and implacable doom.

Defending his home territory with appalling lack of effort, he manages, “Why is my matrimonial equipment so fascinating? It’s not like I’m different from other men.”

“Oh, chéri, if you have to ask then I’ll just have to show you, yes?”

“Um… yes?”

“Is that consent?”

“Oh, con-SENT… as in allowing a total mauling of my person, grievous bodily harm, rough physical batterings, and traumatic man-handling? THAT kind of consent?”

“YES!”

“Well… certainly, naturally, and what’s the hold up? I’m usually flat on my back by now and…” There is a muffled whump and a moment of breathlessness, then, “Ah, good… we’re back on track.”

“You are the most annoying man in this bed!”

“That was my best shirt too… another one to add to the pile.”

“You are too slow.”

“Steady on, allow me to rescue my remaining raiment. Tsk… so impetuous!”

“You have 10 seconds…”

Eight seconds later, “There! See? I’ve been practicing.”

“With who??”

“Harry… well, he watches.”

“Lucky him. Shoo, Harry… time for some serious liming here at this level.”

Harry runs for the high ground and watches the proceedings below with great interest.

“You know, I don’t actually approve of lime…”

“Hush, chéri...”

“Hushing…”

END


	9. Afternoon Poetry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps a trifle "M"-ish towards the end...

**Afternoon Poetry**

Legs and arms interlaced, the man and the woman tenderly touch and breathe in unison. Sometimes they don’t speak at all. Sometimes they reminisce; she teases him for his former shyness and he reminds her of her outrageous stratagems.

Stroking her back, he murmurs, ‘ _Each thing I do, I rush through so I can come to you. In such a way do the days pass_.’

She kisses his shoulder, “That’s lovely.”

“I’m afraid I can’t take credit for it. It was an American. Stephen Dobyns. He’s fairly dark. Not into love poems much.”

“Mmmmmmmmmm. What else does he say?”

“Well, let’s see… ‘ _It’s odd with people who are shy: they never quite learn how to speak, to feel at home with words in their mouths._ ’ How’s that?”

She has crawled onto him. She likes to listen to his heart beat. Steady and true. “What about a person who is only half-shy? You were always pretty good with words when solving a case.”

He runs his hand through her hair, relishing the silky texture, “Mmmm. Half-shy. I like that. It sounds better than total thicko, clueless git, absolute…” He is stopped by her hand over his mouth.

“Shhh. You weren’t any of those things. You were shy. Gun-shy. I still want to fire-bomb Croydon. If I’d been there, things would have been different.” She loves the sound of his voice vibrating out through his chest; deep, resonant, secret.

He is silent for a moment, then, ‘ _If the trauma is great enough, that person’s life may become frozen, emotionally frozen even though he still gets up in the morning, is busy all day, and goes to bed at night. But there’s this empty space that begins to fill with rage, rage toward everyone – the perpetrator, the people in the world who haven’t suffered, even toward himself._ ’

“I don’t like that at all. You weren’t filled with rage, were you?”

He sighs, “No, despair, more like. I’d almost given up hope of ever finding someone… ‘ _If he could not find beauty, nothing else would be worth finding._ ’ But I did find it. That’s you, by the way. Beauty.”

“What does he have to say about women?”

“Well… ‘ _Most women are more into real estate than sex. They want to own you_.’

“Do you think he was writing about himself?”

“They do say you should write what you know.”

“Poor man. Anything else?”

“Only one thing comes to mind… ‘ _The obsession was gone. We liked each other, even loved each other. The sex was still good but the hunger was gone. Either it just wore out or we wore each other out. A passion like that pushes everything else out of its path. You can’t be married and have jobs and children and work and write and have something like an emotional bubonic plague_.’

She rears up, disturbed, “Richard! Could that happen to us? I don’t want to lose my hunger.”

“Now, you see, you sit up like that and all my body wants to do is admire the view and paw you like a beast. That might be obsession… but my mind is in control and what I feel isn’t obsession.”

She is reassured and waggles her shoulders ever so slightly, setting her breasts into soft undulation, “Not obsession? Do you promise?”  He nods. His eyes darken. “What then?”

“Devotion. Fidelity. Loyalty. Stop that. The beast is never far.”

She leans over him, her breasts just touching his chest, nipples hardening and rasping over his, “Oh, I’m so worried! The beast is near. What’s a poor girl to do?”

Sighing deeply, he grasps her upper arms and pulls her down, “She must feed the beast. The poor thing is starving.”

END


	10. Another Glorious Morning

**Another Glorious Morning**

Waking to golden light, rolling over in bed, puffing curls out of her face, she finds herself under careful scrutiny by a fine pair of green eyes. As always, she is immediately struck right in the kidneys. Even after all these past months of intimacy he can still immobilize her with a look… especially THAT look. She has to tell herself to keep breathing… and tries very hard to look nonchalant.

Laughing quietly at her reaction, he runs a gentle hand down her arm to clasp her hand. Bringing it to his lips, he kisses her palm in a true gentlemanly fashion and murmurs, “Sleep well?”

She steels herself quite firmly… it just won’t do! She HAS to get over this spontaneous reaction to leap upon him every time he spoke… or didn’t speak… or looked at her… or…

Grinning from under lowered brows, seeing the flush run over her cheeks, he murmurs, “Now, now. Manners! Mustn’t act improperly at EVERY turn.” Eyes downcast, he nibbles and waits for her reaction. She is SO impulsive. He loves to wind her up.

“Manners? You call this manners?! How can you lay there like the cream-eating cat and insult MY behaviour?” She tries to pull away but he has reached her inner elbow and she seems to lack the strength. _Ahhh, he will be the death of me! What a fine way to wake up._

“Mmm-hmm. I know what you’re thinking… and you should be ashamed of yourself,” is his reply as he reaches her bare shoulder. Looking into her half-lidded eyes, he kisses her cheek, “I can read you like a book. Now, how about a nice cuppa?” He slides out of bed and makes for the kitchen.

He doesn’t get far. She lunges and grabs his waistband. Looking back at her, he thinks, _Hmm, a second disadvantage to sleeping in pajama bottoms. Right, I’m sleeping in the nude from now on._ He quirks an eyebrow. Her face darkens. In the old days, that foretold a fight.

“Hold it right there! Where are you going? You can’t wake me up like that then leave me hung!”

He gives her the little smirk he knows drives her crazy, “I believe the term is ‘leave me hanging’?” Trying to disengage himself, he adds, “I was very clear in my intent. Tea? Coffee?”

She erupts out of the bed to kneel at the edge, both arms wrapped around his waist. Turning him to face her, she huffs, “YOU? Read ME like a book? Hah! Since when? You, the shy one, the flee-er of women, the ‘can’t-tell-when-someone-is-flirting-so-hard-it-hurts’ one, the monk in his cell…” She stops at his kiss.

Drawing back to look down at her, he smiles, “Yes, me. I was all those things… once. Now I’m someone else… thanks to you.” Another kiss, a bit deeper.

“Me? But I couldn’t help it. You were driving me crazy. All those half-smiles and shy looks, complimenting me then insulting me, covering up with those suits then letting me glimpse just the tiniest bit of chest. I’m not made out of stone, you know! Oh, you were soooo English!”

He cups her head in both hands, relishing the silkiness of her hair, gently kneading. She lowers her head, snuggles in right over his heart, her favourite place on his whole body. He loves how she fits against him, her arms around him, her breasts firmly mounded up against his ribs… and… wait for it! Ah, yes, his usual response to her is coming right on cue. He feels her smile against his chest as she drops one hand to cup this interesting turn of events.

“Mmm… now this is much better! Who needs tea and coffee when THIS is on the menu?”

Scooping up the offending hand, he laughs, “I do, woman. You drain me dry. I need restoration.”

“Oh, all right! Go! I don’t need you EVERY minute, you know!” and she flounces back down onto the bed... but it is a long 5 minutes and she is almost ready to go get him when he returns, mugs in hand.

Settling back onto the bed, snugged against the headboard, he puts an arm around her shoulders and she tried very hard not to spill hot liquid onto his lap. After a few sips, she speaks up, “So, you can read me like a book? Is that right?”

“Mmm-hmm. Now.”

“But before…?”

“Hopeless, I’m afraid. Clueless. If you hadn’t thrown yourself at me in such a wanton manner…”

She rears up, holding the coffee WELL away, “I did NOT throw myself at you! You kissed ME!!”

“Mmm-hmm. And why, pray tell, did I kiss you?”

She has the grace to blush, “Well, we were soaked from the storm and I was just trying to help…”

“You ripped my shirt open! I still haven’t found all the buttons!” He struggles to look stern.

She looks away, “Umm, I don’t exactly remember…”

He grins then, “Oh, but I do! In great detail. Shall I remind you?” At her hot silence he puts down his mug and begins ticking items off on his fingers, “Let’s see… you were trying ‘to help’. I was trying to fend you off. I distinctly remember saying, ‘I’m quite capable of removing my own clothes, thank you,’ which should have stopped you… but no! You said I was too slow… then buttons everywhere! Your hands were down my trousers… and we went over backwards!” He throws a hand up into the air, “It’s a miracle I didn’t suffer a concussion! Tsk.”

It is that quiet ‘Tsk’ that does it. Eyes blazing, she sets her coffee down and rounds on him.

_Oh, good_ , he thinks, _in the old days I’d be wearing that by now_. He crosses his arms and gives her his best D.I. face.

“I did NOT breach those sacred trousers!! At least… not then... and YOU fell over… not me! You grabbed me to save yourself and took me with you! And we landed on this bed!! No concussion at all!” She crosses her arms and glares back at him in vindication.

“I see. Is that your best recollection of the event?”

“Yes, it is,” she fumes. Then she pauses, as if rerunning game highlights. A little light goes on in her eyes and she gives him a sidewise look, “Hmm, wait a minute… I remember now… you moved. Yes! You moved towards the bed as I was trying to ‘help’ with your jacket. Yes, yes! And just before you fell… you took a deliberate step to put your back to the bed. Oh, my god! You did it on purpose! You maneuvered yourself into place!” She stares at him with wide disbelieving eyes.

He is examining his nails, his face a placid mask, “Hmm? I don’t think so.”

“You monster!” she whispers, grinning, “How long were you planning it?”

He grins back, “Oh, weeks and weeks. Figures I’d come to my senses during the dry season. The wait almost killed me!”

She cuddles up to him then, purring and absolutely not taking ‘no’ for an answer, as per usual.

He submits enthusiastically, right on schedule.

Just before the fireworks start, he whispers in her ear, “And I remember where every last one of those buttons landed.”

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for Collection #2.  
> Collection #3 starting in 1 week.


End file.
